Today a small refrigerated box holding fast-acting penicillin and syringes came to work. I'd ordered the medicine when Maude was looking pathetic, but since she's returned to full health I won't be doping her up for kicks. I'm am glad to know the medicines in the fridge as I write you. Some day it may save a life.
So, I now live a life where designing corporate web sites and listening to audiobooks is interrupted by the delivery of overnighted sheep meds. This is the kind of right angle in your day that throws your whole life into a more understandable order. I like it when I'm designing on my computer at the cabin or when the farm kicks down the office door like that. Balance, son. Balance and antlers in everyplace I call my own.
I'm enjoying these nights here at the cabin. Outside the nearly full moon hits the snow and it is so bright out there I can see the whole neighborhood. I can spot a buck waltzing through the hollow from a hundred yards away. I don't even need the lantern on my night rounds to move across the farm. The moonlight makes the place feel smaller too, like a still from an old movie. I worry if I walk too far out of my yard I'll discover it's actually a movie set and the buck below me was just a prop guy that lashed Clark to a great dane. At the risk of blowing my own reality, I'll keep the existentialism at bay and just stay within the property lines. It feels safe here. If things get rough we just figure it out or learn to heal. Afterall, if things get hairy the remedy's in the fridge.